


Bigby's Sense of Snow

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Fables - Willingham
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-06
Updated: 2006-12-06
Packaged: 2018-01-25 08:09:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1640654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Bigby Wolf questions his nature.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bigby's Sense of Snow

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy this. My initial thought was to do a story during the invasion of the Homelands, but this story seemed more important. 
> 
> Written for sexybee

 

 

Bigby's Sense of Snow

"Even the highest office in service to another is too low a station for   
me." As Bigby sipped from his glass, those words resounded back at him,   
twining through centuries to haunt him: _his_ words, and spoken   
before he'd become enchanted.

He caught her eyes. She sat across the table from him, her delicate   
elbows bent at the surface, her hands folded atop one another, her chin   
resting lightly upon those. In her long fingers she clasped a champagne   
flute; it was half-drunk and so was she.

"I do believe you've got something on your mind, Mr. Wolf," she said   
dreamily. Her ebony eyes beguiled him. Looking into them was like letting   
her scent in - if left to wander too long in the sense of her, a man might get   
lost. Get lost or go crazy.

"It's you that's on my mind," he said, pushing back from the table.   
As he did, a small smile awaked the corner of her mouth, and she lifted her   
hands to sip from the glass. He could watch her do that all day: simply   
drinking, simply sitting, simply smiling. It wasn't just her beauty. It wasn't   
even just her scent, which had baffled him for years before he finally   
understood it. It was _her,_ the plain basic purity of _her.  
_ Her scent was madness but everything else was clarity.

 _I've been the worst kind of person_ , he thought as he stood,   
and crossed to her. _The worst kind of creature. Centuries might pass  
but I still remember the joy of murder, the joy of the hunt. I still..._

"Having second thoughts?" she asked when he reached the window.   
Paris stretched below them like a sea of glimmering diamonds under the   
dark velvet sky.

"About you?" he asked, not turning. "Never."

"I mean about this," she said, and came up behind him, wrapping an   
arm around his waist. "About us."

"This was my idea," he said, trying on a grin that didn't quite fit.   
"Getting married - Snow, I had to wear _you_ down."

Her face was so small against his back. "I know. But that doesn't   
mean things don't change. Bigby..."

He spun around in her arms and faced her. Those dark eyes set into   
the pale skin of her face. Oh, Snow. Oh, how it is impossible not to love   
you. "How many centuries have we lived by each other, Snow?" he asked.

That smile at the corner of her mouth played for a return, but faltered   
on its way. Something about her scent had changed. Of course it had: a   
sliver of fear had crept into the sweet smell of her, and that was good. Fear   
was good, healthy, necessary. But he also hated it. Hated her fear and   
knowing he caused it.

"I'm not sure," she said lightly. "They _do_ go by so fast,   
and..."

"In all that time, Snow, there have only been two constants in my life.   
The first is my love for you. The second is the knowledge that it would   
never be returned. In all those centuries, I waited to be proven wrong,   
knowing that I never would be. And now that I have been..." He closed his   
eyes and inhaled deeply. That madness again, thick and lush and rapturous.   
"When the Emperor ... the _Adversary_ ... first made his presence   
known in the homelands, I slaughtered his soldiers by the thousands. I was   
ruled by my belly then. My belly and my rage. And one asked me, right   
before I burst his head open with my jaws, why I hunted as I did. Why live   
the life of a lowly cur when I could command legions in the Emperor's   
army? The offer was there, Snow. I just never took it."

She swallowed decorously. Her fear was sharper now, metallic and   
low, slicing through her vitality like a sword. It was a testament to her trust   
in him that she did not try to squirm away. Her fear might be helpless, but   
her will was not. She had worked for that, had earned it. He loved her   
again, more fiercely than ever before. "Why didn't you?" she asked, her jaw   
set.

He said, "Early in life, I made a vow. I told myself that I was going to   
be my own creature, alone until the very end of time. And when the doomed   
soldier made his offer, I told him, 'Even the highest office in service to   
another is too low a station for me.'" He brushed the hair off of her forehead   
and kissed her. "And yet, all you had to do was ask, Snow. All you had to   
do was say the word, and I was your humble servant, forever and ever. I   
wouldn't have it another way."

To his surprise, she laughed. The sound was high and sweet. "You   
speak well for a lowly cur," she said.

"I've had practice," he said, and kissed her.

Now she _did_ break away, her white dress fluttering around   
her as she stepped onto the balcony, and leaned over the edge. "You are   
having second thoughts, though," she said when he joined her at the ledge.   
"You might have your wolf's scent, but I have a woman's intuition. I know   
when something's bothering you, Bigby. So what is it?"

He didn't answer for a moment, only looked out into the darkness   
above that glittering carpet. "It's me, Snow," he said. "Isn't that obvious?   
I'm worried about me."

She looked at him. "About _you_? Why would you be worried   
about _you_?"

He took a deep breath and said, "Do you remember when you told me   
that I might never see my cubs, because they had to go live on the Farm and   
I couldn't go there?"

Momentary spots of red darkened her pale cheeks and she nodded.   
He said, "I hated you then, Snow. I loved you, of course I did, but I hated   
you. And for a moment, I was so pissed off, I was ... Snow, I spent so   
many years killing because I felt like it. Sometimes to eat and sometimes   
out of anger, but most often, just because I felt like it. And feeling that rage   
against you - against _you_ \- made me remember that I'm still that   
same creature who killed because he could. If anything happened to you,   
Snow, I..."

Now it was she who touched his hair, combing her hand through it.   
Her touch was light but firm. He shivered all over and didn't pretend it was   
the breeze. "So what you're saying is that you want to protect me ... from   
you?"

"Snow, I've been a bad man. A dangerous man."

"You're a good man, Bigby."

"No, I just look like one. A wolf in man's clothing."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him gently on the   
lips. "Bigby, do you really think I would have said yes if I didn't know what   
I was getting myself into?"

"Snow...," he said, but there were no words.

"I don't much care who you were then, Bigby. I care about who you   
are now. Compassionate, kind, and willing to risk his life to save me."

He smiled. "You forgot sexy."

She smiled back. "I did _not_ forget sexy. All I'm saying is   
that people are made by their deeds, Bigby. You don't have to prove   
yourself to me any further than you already have. You worry too much."

"Spoken like a true optimist."

"You won't hurt me," she said, and kissed him again. "I have faith in   
you."

"Can I borrow some of that faith?" he said, and kissed her back. Then   
he reached for her hand, and she took his. They looked out across Paris, and   
she never looked as beautiful as she did now. "Maybe it's not castles and   
princes, but it's pretty nice."

"It's perfect," she said. "And so are you." She let go of his hand and   
for a moment he felt completely empty. Then she turned back and flashed a   
smile his way. "More champagne, Mr. Wolf?" she asked.

"Why not?" he said. "Let's celebrate."

When she was out of sight, he turned back to the city; not bad for a   
mundy wonderland. _You won't hurt me_ , she'd said, and had   
believed it completely. _You're a good man, and you won't hurt me_.

"Okay," he murmured to himself, giving his head a slight nod. "If she   
says it's so, then it is." But in his wolf's heart, he wondered.

He wondered.

 

 

 


End file.
